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Part 29

Posted on Saturday, 14 February 2004

24th July 1941 - Glendevie, Scotland

'No one can procrastinate forever ... not even you!' - Sandy

"Neddie." Ashie came strolling into the room Annette had turned into an office for herself bearing an immense pile of books, which he dropped onto her desk with an almighty crash. "Those are photograph albums and in a moment I'll return with some travel logs. I absolutely refuse to look at them, but inspected they must be because the more obscure the hideout, the more important the contents."

"Wonderful." Annette had been skimming travel logs all week and if she had learnt anything from those studies it was that the life of a prospector and mounted policeman in South Africa was not for her. Now she had photograph albums which Ashie considered far too boring to inspect himself, as well as more travel logs. Major-General Sir David Fitzwilliam Darcy was far too fond of the written word for Annette's comfort.

"I'll check his war diaries, so you needn't worry about them." Ashie retreated, leaving Annette to open the first of the photograph albums, and the first photograph caused her to gape. It was one of those ancient photographs from the 1880s which gave everyone a sour expression and a pasty complexion. Though in this case the woman looked quite decent and correspondingly must have been almost inhumanly beautiful in real life. The man could have been James Darcy, though the face lacked the hatchet-like sharpness which so characterised James. The two boys of about five who stood with the couple were probably twins and looked identical to their father. Annie-Bug had spoken nothing but the truth when she said that she and her sister both had Darcy faces and with this photograph to study it was staggeringly obvious how Darcy Annie-Bug's face was. Clearly James had inherited a lot from his mother.

Annette flipped quickly through the pages, an annual photograph was apparently taken for the boys grew steadily older. A few photographs after the first the woman vanished, her place taken by a baby which was held by the father and steadily grew. All painfully Darcy in their appearance, though the baby which soon became obviously female had inherited at least some of her mother's beauty.

School photographs began and showed many a cricket match or rowing race. The boys grew apace, always taller than those they were around on a school team. Slowly other faces began to become familiar with regular appearance. Names from today were connected to youthful images as ghosts from the past laughed and celebrated their achievements. One uncaptioned photograph caused Annette a long pause as she sought to identify the reason it was familiar, and great was her shock when she realised that the serious-eyed boy with dark-hair and a face which would have sent movie executives scurrying for their pens and contracts was Ashie. A quick back check verified that Ashie was in nearly every photograph for two or three years before the first of the two brothers graduated from Eton. Oxford for the elder was much the same as Eton, awards and achievements and immense height and strength. The younger brother had gone to Sandhurst and the two brothers seemed to often be in each other's photographs. The serious-eyed boy who really was difficult to relate to Ashie was also in quite a lot of these pictures, though towards the end the face changed, the eyes now sparkling and mischievous, the face much as it was today as far as expression went. Annette closed the first book, which ended with a graduation from Sandhurst of the younger brother, wondering what had happened. Ashie was about fourteen when the change began to be visible and Annette couldn't help wondering what had happened to the serious-eyed little boy Ashie had once been.

"If you study all of them that closely you might be able to answer the big mystery." Ashie dumped the pile of travel logs next to the photograph books with an unreadable expression.

"What mystery?" Annette looked up in confusion and a touch worried that Ashie might be unhappy that she didn't just flick.

"Why James Darcy ever came back to the MAGI." Ashie opened the first album and glanced briefly over the pages, grinning occasionally at the memories which resurfaced in response to the images.

"What happened?" Annette looked up curiously when Ashie paused on his own picture, aware that she'd be horrified by the memory of having asked this question later.

"Life." Ashie finished glancing over the pages quickly and wrinkled his nose at them. "I was a sober little squirt back then ... thank goodness I learnt to have a bit of fun." Ashie flipped the album back onto the stack and wrinkled his nose again before nodding briefly. "Enjoy 'em, you'll learn all there is to know about the Darcy family if you read those photographs properly."

"Is Miss Bingley likely to appear before she's fully grown?"

"She should be in short-skirts among the Major's graduation photographs for she was at both of them and not out." Ashie pounced upon the book and scowled horribly as he went flicking through the pages. Ashie hesitated for less than a second at the Oxford photographs before pointing to a young lady with plaits and an expression which was trying not to look frightened. Annette was slightly amused to notice that every photograph she was in she was standing as close to Ashie as she could get and twice actually holding his hand. Among the Eton photographs she always had Ashie's hand and instead of plaits she had ringlet curls which didn't suit her at all. "You'll recognise her more easily in the next book because she's out then and been presented and everything." Ashie flipped the book shut before glancing at his watch. "Best get busy or we won't finish cleaning this year." Ashie left the room and Annette flipped through the next two books at a much greater speed. Caroline looking quite like Caroline among these pages. However, after the first photograph which was apparently Caroline's debut, Ashie vanished completely from all photographs, not to be seen anywhere. In fact Ashie remained absent until the photographs from the great war began, and then his appearances were sporadic and he looked every inch the playboy he reputedly was at the time.

Two books were devoted to the great war and Annette hesitated for a long moment over the photograph of a lieutenant in uniform. In fact the only reason Annette knew it was a Lieutenant was because the caption said so, and the same went for the uniform, he looked more like a kid who'd got into a good costume box. The jacket, a scarlet hussar's jacket with tarnished silver trimming and lace, was several sizes too large. The trousers, probably from the Boer War, reached only partway down than man's calves, a deficiency he had catered for by pulling his socks up to his knees. He looked rather like he was wearing a pair of plus-fours such as a clown might wear. The boots were copper-capped and ancient, the copper dull, probably green, and the laces unbelievably knotted. The hat was an Admiral's tricorne which probably came from the Elizabethan Era and had a split rim.

Lieutenant Folin Kirth 'Bennie' Bennet in full uniform ... I sent him to the tailor immediately this photograph was taken.

The other officers were photographed by face only, clearly their uniforms were not worthy of a photograph. Ashie was the only exception, who joined about a month later Annette guessed, and had somehow apparently been issued a full uniform and kit ... from 1810. The caption noted the technical failure in that Ashie had a flint-lock hunting rifle instead of the appropriate muzzle-loader with a spring-lock. That original company must have been an incredible group and as Annette flipped through the pages she realised that they remained an incredible group. Was that because of the Darcy or just chance?

"Oh, cripes!" Ashie gave a choke of laughter as he dropped some files on Annette's desk. "I always wondered if he'd actually carried out his threat to mount that photograph." Ashie flipped back to the photograph of the Lieutenant and gave another laugh. "I never saw that photograph, though Bennie did occasionally dress up for us."

"Is he related to Mr ... James." Annette corrected herself hastily, Ashie had lost his temper a few days before and as a result Annette had capitulated and begun at least attempting to remember to call him James instead of Mr Darcy.

"Uncle." Ashie shook his head as he flipped through the pages and studied the faces. "Bennie was a decent sort, much too nice to be mixed up with the rest of us. He died in '15 at Loos, while I was playing smart mickey in Gallipoli I think. Lieutenant Miles Holloway ... I knew him as a Captain and he was a dry old biscuit with no thought beyond his books at first. The Major gave him a tongue-lashing and that was it, old Millie added his command to his concerns and became a crashing good officer for all his being a pacifist. Millie died at St. Quentin in '18. Bing was just a jolly schoolboy ... and for that matter he still is though he lost an arm. Lost it in '16 if I remember correctly." Ashie snapped the book shut. "Bit of a blur those middle years. Carrie came through with barely a scratch and I will not come and look again." Ashie turned and walked stiffly from the room. Annette watched his departure in slight perplexity before giving a small shrug and resuming her inspection of the books.

People, single and in groups drifted across the pages accompanied by more than a couple aerial shots accredited to squadrons and sometimes to pilots. Ashie was the first to vanish from the photographs, leaving almost before he'd arrived, his replacement a fresh-faced boy with no name. Then 'Bennie' vanished and the photographs became landscapes of England with the odd occupant. A main street of a small town with a mix of civilians and military. Annette paused at a photograph, the last photograph before the camera returned to France. A young woman with a laughing face and friendly eyes was glowering in a most unconvincing manner at an immense dog who seemed to be laughing back at her. The two seemed unaware that they were under observation, and the photograph was an amazingly good character study. The woman was not a beauty, but animation and expression made the face one you could never possibly forget. Annette couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen the face somewhere, but the photograph was uncaptioned and Annette suspected it was the Darcy way of saying that if she didn't already know, she didn't need to know.

There was a group of mystery photographs, not France or England, which puzzled Annette until she noted one occupant of a photograph was Ashie. Admittedly the Ashie looked three quarters dead and very disreputable, but there was an off chance that Ashie might remember where the photographs were from. The camera had a short stint in Kent and took a single photograph of the still unnamed woman, this time glowering at some music on the piano.

The camera then returned to France, but there was a change and the photographs were purely military in nature. Two photographs were taken by someone else and for the first time since his Oxford graduation D.F. Darcy was to be seen on film. He was indeed an immense man, his expression closed and grim, his perspective as clearly work oriented as the photographs revealed. The camera then returned to England once more. A young and pregnant Nelli appeared for the first time, along with the little girl from the first book or two. The girl was now grownup and looking very like her mother. The woman appeared again as well, though never in a group, just twice in private studies she probably didn't know about at the time. Annette's favourite was one where the woman was nose to nose with an absolutely immense horse and not half looking like she'd do nearly anything to be somewhere else. Caroline Bingley was also to be seen, though she looked like she was sucking on a lemon in all of the pictures.

"'Scuse-ee for a tick." Ashie came bounding back into the room and seized the book before flipping quickly back through the book several dozen pages and scowling at a photograph someone had taken of a crowded room which had maps instead of wallpaper. It was one of the photographs someone else had taken. "Hah." Ashie's finger nailed a face in the background before he pushed the album to Annette. "Recognise that frog, Neddie?"

"Looks like a bad picture of Brian O'Niell." Annette glanced at the photograph briefly.

"'Tis." Ashie looked very satisfied as he turned Annette back to where she had been. "Except it's Brian O'Niell, father of the one you know. Not a bad fish, but Jim once challenged me to find him and I only just remembered."

"Ashie?" Annette flipped to a small group of photographs she could not place at all. "Where are these taken?"

"Why ask me?" Ashie frowned at the pages before blinking rather sleepily.

"Because you're in that one." Annette motioned to one of them.

"Ah." Ashie squinted at the page, his hands gently rubbing against themselves. "Turkey ... some place starting with E I believe and the front shared by Turkey and Russia. The Armenians were in the middle of that and I felt a tad sorry for them."

"Can you also explain this photograph." Annette flicked to the last of the mystery photographs.

"Explain what?" Ashie had actually whitened a trifle as he inspected the photograph which was mounted right next to a picture of Rosings. "Though I will admit I had wondered where that photograph had got to ... and I certainly do not remember it being that bad."

"Why is there a photograph of a mutilated corpse?"

"'Tisn't." Ashie grimaced and carefully turned the page aside. "Not a mutilated corpse, I mean, not that it isn't a photograph. Russian medical record which the Major took out of circulation."

"But..." Annette abruptly stopped as she had a thought and returned her attention to the albums.

"Very wise." Ashie's tone was dry and a perfect mimic of Caroline when Ashie either capitulated, or withdrew, from an argument. Ashie left as he spoke and after a moment Annette resumed flipping through the album. Annette did not wish to think about that photograph because the cryptic caption had suddenly made sense. Self-mutilation???

The camera returned to France and relaxed on the work as people began to leak back into the scene. There was a picture of Ashie, in the worst uniform imaginable, laughing with a fellow officer ... and Annette was more than a little shocked to find from the caption that it was none other than Pyro. Cricket in the snow, and so alive Annette could almost hear the laughter for the batsman was forever frozen at the end of an immense drive which should have sent the ball for six ... unfortunately the ball had evaded the bat and the bails were frozen mid performance of some spectacular acrobatics. Ashie, again, talking to the woman, now in an old-fashioned nursing uniform. A dance in some shed, and the interesting sight of General Darcy dancing with the woman ... who did not reach his shoulder. Again, the woman, laughing in a large, mixed group. Ashie talking, his arms up in explanation, his hands gloved. Rugby in the mud. It was one of the few photographs which Ashie was not to be found anywhere ... Pyro was there, along with Florrie, that rather effeminate, monocle sporting, blond who could look uncannily like Ashie at times, but Ashie was not to be seen and neither was General Darcy ... in Annette's opinion the photographs of General Darcy had to be taken by Ashie. Had something happened to Ashie during this period? Other women were to be seen through the photographs, but always that same woman who was never named was to be seen. All the other women might be named, but that woman never, and Annette was pretty confident of her identity now.

Ashie was becoming almost common again, along with several names which were very familiar to Annette now. There were still plenty of work photographs, but there was not the focus of the photographs just after Rosings. Then the photographs ended quite abruptly. There had been a concentrated period of work photographs, probably months of time covered by them, and then one single, lonely non-work photograph last of all. The last photograph had been taken by someone else on a train. General Darcy was asleep, comfortably wedged into a corner of the carriage, a long forgotten book hanging from his fingers. His face was old, creased and carved by exhaustion, worry and strain. The uniform, with the epaulets more imagined to hold the General insignia than actually bearing it, was creased, dirty and much patched. The peaked officer's cap was frayed and stained, resting on the back of his head forming more of a cushion than part of a military uniform. Against General Darcy leant the still unnamed VAD. The woman looked only slightly less exhausted than General Darcy, her uniform showing age, but also showing that it was scrupulously well-cared for and that the journey had not been of brief duration. The woman was curled very comfortably within the shelter of General Darcy's arm, safe from any possible tumble to the floor. The woman had her fingers intertwined with General Darcy's, a ring just discernible on the left hand. If it said anything for the relationship between the two, even under the weariness and age there was happiness in their sleep. It was not shallow and brief euphoria which might be expected in a reunion at a time of war, it was the deep, satisfying happiness of hope ... at a time when there could not have been much hope to see in the world. They had been at war for three and a half years, and the first hopeful signs were still a month or two off.

Many thanks Chris, we had none. - E. Darcy, April 1918

Annette slammed the book shut as if it had bitten her after she had read the simple caption. There were somethings which should not be read by just anybody. Annette knew her cheeks were hot and she felt almost sick as she left her seat and hurried into the cool hallway. It was not just the caption, but also the photograph which had sent Annette from the room and she wasn't about to start analysing her emotions now.

It was three corridors later when Annette literally stumbled over Ashie, who looked nothing if not out of place. Ashie was dressed in a flannel suit which wouldn't have been out of place in Bond Street, but it was out of place where he was. Ashie was sprawled on the ground leafing through an elderly accounting ledger.

"Something up?" Ashie scrambled to his feet and gently checked his ribs, though his eyes were focussed on Annette and concerned.

"Why don't you check those albums? They're private!" Annette picked herself up and tried to push some of the heat out of her cheeks as she glared at Ashie. Annette had not actually been looking for Ashie, but she wasn't about to leave now she had found him.

"I know." Ashie carefully closed the ledger with his foot, checked his suit over carefully, before finally drawing a careful breath and massaging his ribs for a second. "But in the end they are only people, and people have lives."

"What are you saying?" Annette stiffened at the obscurity of Ashie's answer. Annette had had a sufficiency of obscure remarks from Ashie, he always had ulterior motives behind everything he said and Annette wasn't in the mood to just drop it and ignore what was likely pointed sarcasm ... who cared what he said, she was tired of pretending ignorance of when he was inexcusably rude.

"Nothing." Ashie gave a weary sigh. "I just asked you to do it because I knew the people on those pages ... I knew them very well and most to all of them are now dead." Something hard and harsh was leaking into the expression in Ashie's eyes. "This mess is the life of my godson who was almost thirty years younger than me." Ashie took what was clearly meant to be a steadying breath, but the expression in his eyes was bitter anger, the breath had done nothing. "That is the life of the one man who ever told me that I had as much right to live as anyone else. That is the life of my best friend, a man who had faith in me ... everyone else called me a flaming idiot long before I became one. That is half of the life of one of the very few women I have, or had, any respect for at all. That is the life of the only person who has grown up knowing me from day scratch and had the honesty to let me know, without prejudice, when he thinks I'm making a flaming ass of myself. I don't have time for this. I don't have the time, or the energy to deal with the fact that you don't have an ounce of trust in me for no other reason than because six generations ago the paternal figurehead happened to choose the right side in a bloody messy war and did a damn good job of work and was duly rewarded for twenty-five years of unpaid service!" Ashie took another breath, this time finally regaining some semblance of control over his anger, his voice dropping and the usual impassive mask settling on his face once more. "I realise you don't like us and for the most part I couldn't care less because I have my own prejudices, but right now I am not in the right temper to be even remotely reasonable. Yes, I am an aristocrat. Yes, I have been schooled at the very best schools money can enter, and yes I have wasted what I might have learnt from those schools. Well, welcome to the real world where money apart I am still a perfectly normal human being trying to live my life. The Darcys are the same, they are just trying to live their lives. The Darcys have their parents who have expectations ... we also have society who also has its expectations of us. But we are just people. Just human beings who have our lives, loves and our own little adventures." Ashie shook his head wearily, he suddenly looked every one of his fifty years. "Forget it, I'll do the albums and travel logs at some time ... don't really expect anything to be there anyway." Ashie shook his head again, kicked the ledger out of the path and vanished into a nearby room.

Annette glared at a piece of wall which seemed to be wearing a very 'I told you so' expression. The piece of wall however did have a point, Annette had been warned that Ashie did have limits. Annette had also been warned that when pushed passed his limits Ashie tended to make people wish they'd never been born. That warning had also proven true. Annette kicked the wall before turning back towards her little room, her thoughts running rampant as two separate parts of her mind collided and began to fight it out.

Three times Annette picked up the next album, and three times she dropped it. Once Annette left the room altogether and began to walk away, but she found herself back at the doorway without even realising she had turned around. Finally Annette opened the book and found herself looking at a grinning baby with precisely one tooth in an old-fashioned highchair.

James McKenna Darcy, May 1919
This is the start Miss Beth, I highly doubt the Major would have ignored this opportunity.

Ashie had taken care with that note he had scribbled, for it was not his usual scrawl but near perfect copperplate. A folded scrap of paper wedged into the seam was in Ashie's usual scrawl: IOU photography lessons.

Annette began flipping a trifle quickly through the photographs which followed, then stopped herself and went back to look at all of the photographs. She had two choices, either to be a gawky tourist who looked at only the overtly interesting, or she could study the photographs and try to understand the woman who had married a Darcy. To be a tourist was tempting, but Annette realised that in fairness to all she should study the people and their life ... if for no other reason than she owed it to Ashie.

The photographs of Elizabeth Darcy were interesting enough, but Annette soon realised that Elizabeth lacked her husband's ability to capture life and character in photographs. Most of the photographs were of James or of friends who had come to visit. Ashie and Pyro were frequently to be seen, often in company with Florrie. Annette had no idea who Florrie was, she had never met him and his name was never mentioned that she'd heard, though he had first appeared in the war albums. Caroline Bingley was also a common face, with Kitty Bennet and another woman listed as Anne Marshall, who was apparently a friend of Elizabeth's as she had never been in any photographs before Elizabeth got hold of the camera. Judging by the speed at which James grew, Elizabeth Darcy made little use of the camera but this may have been because she was too busy, rather than because she disliked it.

Then Ashie's fist captioned a couple of photographs and Annette drew a sharp breath. Elizabeth Darcy was not a well woman, thin and pale with a strained countenance. James, until then quite a pudgy baby with a perpetual grin, abruptly changed into a little boy mostly knees and elbows with a serious expression. Annette couldn't help the feeling that the change was too abrupt and possibly rather early. James couldn't have been more than two-ish by the date of those pictures, and Annette couldn't help wondering what had happened.

"That is what happens when Lady Catherine decides to take a serious hand in your life." Ashie spoke from the doorway.

"What happened?"

"The papers report it all." Ashie gave a small shrug. "Lady Catherine lost that round and retired from the lists for a year. I took those two photographs to remind Miss Beth to look after herself. No point winning against Lady Catherine and then dying of exhaustion." Ashie paused. "I thought you weren't going to finish them."

"I wasn't." Annette responded calmly before considering her response. "Then I realised that I was being a coward. It's all well and good for me to rip into other people ... but I do need to know what I'm talking about, and I don't with James McKenna Darcy."

"Why would he ever be a topic of conversation? Let alone a topic of fighting."

"My name has been plastered across front pages with him ... it is the second most common question asked of me when people connect the dots, 'what's James Darcy like?' I might want to get married one of these days and I highly doubt anyone would believe that I knew nothing about him at all."

"Nothing about him?" Ashie's brows rose sharply. "There are quite a few friends who would contest that view of yours ... and quite frankly I am one of them."

"Alright, so I could tell when he was actually irritated as opposed to wearing a front because he was bored and wanted an entertaining debate. I hardly count that as knowing him." Annette shook her head tiredly.

"Considering that I knew him his entire life and could never be quite certain on that point, most of us would say you knew what was important. The history isn't actually all that important if you're willing to take the good with the bad and live your own life."

"Look, I didn't know him at all. Yes, I noticed a particular physical trait he displayed only when genuinely irritated by something, but other than that there was nothing. I didn't make him laugh and except as a person who could give him a half-way reasonable debate he didn't give two hoots about me. Now, can we drop this Ashie? It's bad enough that the newspapers still chuck the odd wonder on whether there really was something between us without you also playing matchmaker."

"I am not playing matchmaker." Ashie drew back sharply, almost as if he'd been bitten by something. "And to be perfectly frank Jim gave a hell of a lot more than two hoots about you ... and if you got that through your thick skull we might get on considerably better."

"Ashie, he doesn't know me at all." Annette shook her head in exasperation.

"Doesn't know you?" Ashie's brows were up again. "I ... "

"Ashie." Annette interrupted curtly, then stopped and shook her head wearily. "We're just going to have to disagree on this subject. I'm sorry but I do not agree with you and I doubt there is anything which will change my opinion."

"Mm." Ashie's response was a patently skeptical grunt.

"Ashie." Annette glared at him, she knew that grunt of old and it was clear that Ashie didn't believe her in the slightest.

"Well, that is my only response ... unless you're going to say that you don't like Jim and don't want him to like you. Obviously that would have an impact on my response."

"I have rather a lot of work to do." Annette looked pointedly first at the door, then at her desk. Ashie gave a faint laugh before departing. Annette glared futilely at the door Ashie had closed behind himself on departure, she was getting very irritated with him indeed for he was not helping her mental peace at all. Annette's mind was quite unsettled by her own questions of her emotions concerning James Darcy. Ashie's stirrings made things worse because they added James' possible emotions to the mix. It was bad enough having the not so sneaking suspicion that she had been genuinely in love with James Darcy. Annette did not require the added question of whether her possible love might have been genuinely reciprocated. Annette had calmly stated, to Annie-Bug, that no man ever had, or ever would, cost her sleep. That had been a year ago, and Annie-Bug would undoubtedly laugh now if she heard that her cousin was costing Annette a very large amount of sleep indeed. Annette decided that sleep would be a pointless exercise, she might just finish off the photograph albums and start on the travel logs instead of spending the night tossing and turning and getting irritated at the elusive goddess of sleep. With this firm decision in mind Annette opened the next album ... but by two o'clock in the morning she had slammed the book she had been working on shut and picked up the first of the travel logs. There were still two albums left, but Annette showed not the slightest temptation to open either of them again as she burrowed into the logs.

Part 30

Posted on Saturday, 21 February 2004

July 26th 1941 - Glendevie, Scotland

Life is like surrealist art ... it makes no sense at all unless you have education. Education is the art of plausible fabrication.

Annette could only stare as she approached Ashie's door for he was audibly swearing and in the minute or two she listened for he did not repeat himself once.

"Ashie." Annette knocked sharply, she had an enquiry that needed answering.

"We've got visitors, so unless it concerns a piece of paper it can wait." Ashie's expression was downright thunderous as he looked out of his room.

"Just a piece of paper." Annette held out the scrap and Ashie studied it intently.

"MAGI code." Ashie grunted briefly as he scanned the scrap. "Addresses in Italy ... probably safe houses from before the war."

"Thank you." Annette carefully folded the scrap away. "Visitors?"

"The Hawk is incoming." Ashie indicated to the south with an irritable gesture.

"Ah." Annette nodded briefly and then withdrew. Ashie was obviously in a bad mood today, and avoiding him merely an act of self-preservation ... Annette hoped the visitors would emerge intact from the encounter.

An hour later Annette looked up from the travel log she had been flipping through, Ashie had just stalked past her door muttering and cursing somewhat colourfully. Five minutes later he passed her door again. Within twenty minutes Annette had realised that Ashie was walking laps of something for he passed regularly every five minutes, swearing softly.

"ASHIE!" Annette yelled just before Ashie reached her door the next time.

"Neddie?" Ashie's expression was perfectly calm and contained as he looked into the room.

"You are driving me nuts." Annette spoke calmly.

"Am I?" Ashie looked politely enquiring, but not even slightly appologetic.

"Yes." Annette spoke firmly.

"You want me to stop then?"

"No." Annette gave a small smile. "But I am going to hijack you occasionally to get something explained."

"What?"

"Why does General Darcy abruptly stop writing these logs and James take over?"

"It doesn't say?"

"No." Annette pushed the log away from herself. "There's just a week of no entries and then James starts writing and states that the weather was bad."

"What year?"

"1932 ... November. They're apparently in Indochina." Annette frowned at the entry for a moment.

"Ah." Ashie gave a nod. "The Major had got sick ... by the way our visitors will be here in about a minute."

"Your visitors are here right now." Caroline's voice was curt and weary and her appearance matched her voice. "We want tea as of now and everyone in the cave."

"Dire emergency?" Ashie's expression was dark, his tone sarcastic.

"You might call it that." Caroline matched Ashie's coldness calmly. "James McKenna Darcy did not die at Pemberley."

"What?" Ashie's expression was utterly blank.

"James McKenna Darcy did not die at Pemberley." Caroline calmly repeated herself.

"How do you know that?" It was sharp.

"Because he ripped Jeroen off the Swedish Border on the thirteenth of April."

"Jeroen is alive?" Annette half rose from her seat.

"He's with Annie-Bug." Caroline shot a glance at Annette. "They're both down in the cave."

"Didn't die at Pemberley." Ashie was staring off at something visible only to him. "Meaning he has died somewhere ... where?"

"Europe we presume ... he certainly did not return to England by the route he told Jeroen he'd be using."

"What happened to the box?"

"Jeroen presumes it's still buried in Norway."

"Lovely ... I'll go get tea." Ashie pushed past Caroline and vanished down the hall.

"He is in a charming mood today." Caroline carefully pulled her gloves off. "Do you want to follow me to the cave?"

"But..." Annette stopped.

"I'll give any excuse if you don't wish to see Jeroen, but I had assumed that you would."

"It really is Jeroen?" Annette wasn't certain whether she believed Caroline.

"You could always see for yourself." Caroline neatly folded away her gloves and tucked them into her handbag. "Shall we?"

"What's the cave?"

"It's a place which can only be seen ... certainly nothing will ever describe it." Caroline waited for Annette to pack away before she lead the way to a part of the house and a locked room Annette had never been in. "Glendevie has a far from peaceful history." Caroline unlocked a second door and lead the way down a spiral staircase which was very narrow, steep and roughly hewn from solid stone. "The result is some rather unusual architectural features." Caroline lead the way along a narrow passage which was lit and ventilated by regular slit windows which gave a view of the of the small village which clustered at the foot of the hill Glendevie perched on. "This particular feature was discovered by a six year old Jim Darcy while chasing rabbits with Ifor."

"Why the unpeaceful history?" Annette followed Caroline through a couple of long galleries and down another spiral staircase.

"Bloody-minded gaels and some unknown opposition. The Darcys obtained this island through a wife some hundred years ago or so with a population of about ten ... and it was in her family for all the known history they have. Which was about two hundred years at that point. Might have been Normans who caused this extensive burrowing into the hill." Caroline stopped in a long gallery which was lit by a series of narrow slits which gave views of the sky. "The village was turned into a Naval Training Facility during the Great War and most of the families re-settled afterwards. Why Glendevie itself wasn't touched by the Navy we don't know, but it wasn't and in some ways that's probably nice because we can rest confident that this is all known only to those who live here ... and how much the villagers know is a question nobody has cared to ask."

"Are there dungeons?" Annette looked curiously around at the rough-hewn stone, well aware that she'd be stuck if she had to find the stairs back out of this warren of galleries, passages and little rooms.

"I assume so, but quite frankly the lower sections would be dungeons in themselves for they are damp, unlit and easy to close off." Caroline finally stopped outside a stretch of particularly rough stone and after a moment found whatever she sought for a portion of the wall pushed out and slid sideways to reveal a cavern. "Welcome to the cave and the General Headquarters of the MAGI."

"Jeroen!" Annette would probably have said something about the size of the cavern had she not just caught sight of Jeroen bending over some immense board with Annie-Bug.

"Hullo Button." Jeroen straightened up and gave a small wave. "Bug tells me that Jim failed to deliver my message that all was well and I'd be home in about three months."

"Something like that." Annette gave a slightly shakey smile. "You going to fly off again soon?"

"Reposted to Northern England ... but yes, I fly again in a week."

"Well don't crash again." Annette crossed to inspect the table Jeroen and Annie-Bug had been studying.

"Nice map isn't it?" Jeroen indicated the immense map of Europe which was riddled with markers, strings and scribbled notes.

"This is a part of the house I haven't been in before." Annette looked around the cavern curiously, having first determined that the map would supply hours of work to even begin to dent the information contained within.

"Until now I didn't even know this place existed."

"Which is the sole reason that Jim managed to maintain his neutral reputation while managing one of the most extensive watching networks in the world." Ashie came into the room and bashed a nearby button. An echoing crash sounded and Ashie grimaced as he opened a small, recessed cupboard and retrieved a much bashed tea set from within. "Service ... but I suspect the tea will be weak." Ashie dropped the service onto about the only clear tabletop in the entire cave. "So, what now?"

"You promise you will not leave Glendevie until this mess is sorted." Caroline was serving tea as she spoke, but her eyes were on Ashie and it wasn't half obvious that they were having a silent war about her demand.

"Hi! Mind the tea." Annie-Bug seized the teapot just before Caroline flooded the cup. Caroline nodded her appologies, but she didn't break eye contact with Ashie. Annie-Bug quickly filled all the cups and handed them out.

"This, I take it, is the boring part?" Jeroen had settled on a large pile of paper.

"No." Annie-Bug found herself a stool under a pile of paper. "They'll have at least three more of these staring competitions before all this is settled ... and the longest one will be when Caroline drags a promise from Ashie that he will continue to close the MAGI down."

"Jim would have a fit if Ashie kept it active." Jeroen looked almost sick at Annie-Bug's words. "He'll also endanger Jim, if he is alive, doing something like that."

"Which is the only reason that Ashie will capitulate." Annie-Bug picked up a nearby page. "All this would take no time at all if they were talking, but they're not so things will probably last into tomorrow."

"Wouldn't it be easier to get them to make peace, start talking and then settle everything?" Annette had been watching the silent competition with mild annoyance.

"Probably." Annie-Bug scrambled to her feet and waved a hand between Caroline and Ashie. In perfect synchronisation both turned to look enquiringly at Annie-Bug. "Neddie had a wonderful suggestion. The suggestion is that you two go and have your fight over Ashie's trip to Africa in the next room, then when you're talking and amicable and all you return and we deal with the mess which has arisen because of Jeroen's return."

"What happens if we refuse?" Ashie was looking suspiciously from Annie-Bug to Annette and back again.

"We'll be up all night instead of getting this all settled before midnight."

"Fine." Ashie turned and stalked out of the room. Caroline paused only to give Annette a nod of thanks before she similarly stalked from the room.

"And now we just wait for them to return." Annie-Bug returned to her chair and stared at her tea-cup and the weak brew within.

For two hours Annette had been prying, there was no other word for the systematic rummaging she had submitted the immense desk to. Not that there was anything particularly interesting to be found. Maps, maps and more maps. A large collection of pencils and three sharpeners came to light in her search, along with a string mouse and a photograph of General Darcy and Ashie. Other than that she had merely discovered dust and the fact that she was almost resigned to finishing the photograph albums. She had stopped looking through the albums when James was about nine years old, and had so far found sufficient excuses not to open the next album. However, almost was the hooking point, she plain didn't want to finish because somehow she knew that they would hold some unpalatable truths.

"Here they come." Annie-Bug finally straightened out of her conversation with Jeroen, and Annette looked up in relief for nothing could be so boring as the past couple of hours.

Caroline came into the room with an exasperated expression, though she shook her head ruefully and relaxed as she met the barrage of eyes.

"He has gone for more tea ... and we've already agreed that Jim's presence in Europe goes no further than us here. Likewise Ashie will not go charging off to investigate ... in fact we're just going to behave as if Jeroen merely reappeared having won free by himself." Caroline collected herself a seat. "Which in truth is the whole reason we came here for ... but you all get to speak. Ashie wants Jeroen's report and he figures it will be better for all if it's a verbal report which is copied and typed."

"Wonderful." Jeroen slumped back on his seat and stared at his hands.

"Ah, I see she's delivered unto you the divine and delightful news." Ashie came into the room carrying a bag of tea leaves and another jug of milk. "Nothing like a well-trained cow." Ashie deposited both on the tray before settling himself on a chair which could hardly have looked any more uncomfortable if it had been deliberately carved so.

"Hot water?" Caroline had inspected the tray before looking at Ashie.

"Why on earth would we want that? I'm sure it's rationed along with everything else." Ashie's expression wasn't quite straight and it took Annette a long time to remember when she had last seen that lilting, laughing expression on Ashie's face, it had been November last year when James Darcy had returned publicly to London.

"I'll get it." Annie-Bug crossed to the cupboard the service had appeared out of earlier. A brief struggle got the other door of the cupboard open and there was a couple hollow clunks and then the wash of running water. "Light the primus, someone." Annie-Bug came out balancing a cautious jug while she closed the cupboard again.

"Where is it?" Ashie asked the question in everyone's mind.

"Under the desk." Annie-Bug placed the jug on the desk before she pulled the primus out, she then returned to her seat and Annette watched in frank interest as Ashie lit the primus.

"Tea in twenty minutes." Ashie settled and fixed an unblinking and rather catlike gaze on Jeroen. "Get reporting sunshine, we know the flack got you, but you were intact and made a run for it after burying the box ... you also apparently reached the border."

"True enough." Jeroen closed his eyes and leant back, he obviously did not wish to look at his audience.

Jeroen had been within sight of the border for only three hours when he reluctantly acknowledged that it was not going to be an easy job smuggling himself into Sweden. In fact Jeroen was starting to have serious doubts that he'd be able to make it at all, considering how many narrow shaves he'd had just moving in Norway.

Jeroen wasted a further six hours watching the border before reaching the inevitable conclusion that he needed to think of another way into Sweden. Walking past the border control was plainly going to fail miserably. However to date Jeroen's lessons in life had not included getting past border controls without being caught. Whether to begin learning this noble art where he was or at a more discreet distance Jeroen hadn't quite yet decided. In fact the only thing he was at all confident about was that he was going to have to indulge in some serious thinking if he wanted to have even a chance at getting across.

"Keep DOWN!" It was a savagely hissed whisper, and had a hand not already been wrapped around Jeroen's mouth he would have yelped. As it was he couldn't move, whoever had him had planted a knee smack in the small of his back and a hand at the base of his skull, a move which seemed somehow to have totally paralysed him.

"Not like I was going to move with you addling my nervous system." Jeroen responded five minutes later when he was finally released.

"I was more worried you'd try and get up after I released you." A small pack dropped into the snow.

"Why shouldn't I?" Jeroen finally regained sufficient movement in his neck to turn his head, so he used the ability to glare over his shoulder. Jeroen was not overly surprised to see that his attacker was James, and James was now fully preoccupied with something he was watching to their left.

"Because they're not blind." James was apparently satisfied because he settled down on the snow. "Have some chocolate, it will be some hours before we can move again."

"Thank you." Jeroen accepted the mushy lump. "Why can't we move?"

"Guards for one." James pushed the block back into his pack. "Your uniform for two." James gave a yawn before jabbing himself with a syringe just above the elbow.

"Wha..." Jeroen swallowed his objection in response to the alarm which shot into James' eyes, he had been speaking audibly.

"Third reason is the fact that I only just injected myself and it will take a couple of hours for the fever to climb high enough."

"But." Jeroen shook his head helplessly.

"Only way we'll get across fast enough ... you need to catch the seven o'clock train for Oslo." James rested his head on his arm, his skin was beginning to flush with fever already and Jeroen was quite frankly worried.

"Are you going to be even conscious?"

"Oh, yes." James gave a small smile, though he had closed his eyes. "I do not promise to be totally lucid though."

"James..." Jeroen stopped, the words just wouldn't come.

"You'll not get across by yourself in time and I promised Bug I'd bring you home."

"Does she know that?"

"No." James stirred slightly. "I think she's forgotten that I promised four years ago that she would marry you if she wanted to ... can't really marry you if you're dead."

"Comforting thought." Jeroen settled himself carefully and tried to ignore the speed at which James' condition was deteriorating into sickness.

"Button would never forgive me if she knew I could have done something ... probably wouldn't have forgiven myself either." It was a slurred and indistinct mumble for James was essentially asleep where he lay.

"James!" Jeroen shoved a nearby shoulder as he hissed the warning several minutes later. Jeroen had just had an exceedingly nasty thought which he had no intention of not addressing. James had yet to say how they were going to cross the border, and he had not promised he'd be lucid when they prepared to depart.

"Umm?" One grey eye cracked open a tiny amount.

"Is there anything I need to know about this crossing?"

"Ah." There was a moment, then the eye struggled fully open. "In my pack you'll find a change and a passport ... leave the uniform behind in the pack. We need to get on the road two corners back ... .but not until about five-thirty. We want to hit the border before the change arrives, but right at the end for these blokes ... need 'em starting to think of other things."

"Anything else?" Jeroen would ask James another time why he developed weird accents as his fever climbed.

"I've my passport on me and ... " James' head nodded for a moment.

"Jim!" Jeroen couldn't help feeling uncomfortable as he hissed sharply and poked James on the shoulder.

"Sorry." James stirred and gave his head a cautious shake. "In my shoe is a disc which should get us through the Swedish side if they prove sticky ... but I should be bad enough that they even whistle us up an ambulance. At both huts, look hassled and shove both passports across without a word. They'll not question your silence unless they're blind. At worst, speak French ... even if you have the wrong accent they won't recognise it as wrong."

"We can't go yet?" Jeroen was quite frankly worried because James was in a roaring fever already.

"No." James' eye had shut again and he settled his head more on the crook of his elbow. "Not while the fever is climbing ... not in the mood for pneu ... pneumon ... pneumonia." James finally got it out with a sigh. "Wake me at four." The rhythm of James' breathing slowed as he ceased to speak and he relaxed into the ground.

Jeroen spent an edgy hour watching James, but finally realised the best he could do was change into the clothes James had apparently brought and wait for four to arrive. The change was easy and after a moment of pause Jeroen pushed the pack under a bush before settling back next to James. Now the only thing to do was wait until his watch had inched its way around to four o'clock.

It was precisely four o'clock when the grey eyes flickered open, but Jeroen was a bit worried to see they were blind, clearly not seeing what was there. What James could see only James could say, and the only thing Jeroen could take comfort in was that it couldn't be too bad for James was almost smiling.

"What time is it?" The smile had faded.

"Four o'clock ... you look dreadful."

"I feel about as bad. Fortunately my ears and tongue are still under my control."

"So you really can't see me?"

"I can't see anything." James rolled over and braced his hands against the ground before pushing to his feet. The result was that he fell straight back over. "Mind giving me a hand?"

"Not at all." Jeroen grabbed James' right arm and hauled vigorously.

"Fell into a bush within a minute didn't he." Ashie interrupted Jeroen's account with the rather flippant remark.

"It was a tree he walked into actually ... and quite frankly getting past the border was an utter nightmare. However Jim was quite correct, the Nazis were more than happy to get rid of us and the Swedes were kind enough to whistle up an ambulance for us because it wasn't half obvious that Jim really couldn't walk."

"Why couldn't Jim walk?" Caroline was frowning darkly.

"He wouldn't tell me ... but the border controllers sure as hell thought he was a case of polio, and a bad one at that."

"His leg went out of action?" Ashie had a faint crease between his brows.

"His whole right side and his left arm were basically useless and he still wouldn't let anyone touch him when I shifted on. He said he'd be fine within a week and I had a train to catch." Jeroen gave a shrug.

"Ashie?" Caroline was looking quite worried.

"Gerkin ... did he actually inject something, or did he just jab himself with that syringe?"

"He emptied half the syringe into his arm ... some clear fluid."

"What happened to the syringe?"

"He stowed it in the pack just before we left I think." Jeroen frowned as he searched his memory.

"Thanks." Ashie finally relaxed slightly and gave a small smile. "Old dodge for the borders. Chris used to just mock it up, but Jim always produces a good fever when injected and the borders have wised up to people faking illness. Add a dose of anti-tetanus serum to the jab and you get sensitive joints in the limb where the jab occurred. Must have been a rather concentrated dose of serum though to wipe so much of him out ... hope he didn't actually give himself tetanus." Ashie was looking satisfied, but if anything Jeroen was looking more worried.

"Ashie..." Jeroen hesitated, clearly searching for words.

"How did you return?" Caroline interrupted Jeroen's efforts to speak and her question brooked nothing but an answer.

"By cargo freight marked as some piece of armament for the most part. I was a member of the Luftwaffe while getting back north of Paris after they couldn't find me a free ride to Gibraltar. Mighty glad of all Hope's lectures on German Aircraft technicalities. They considered sending me over the Mountains into Spain but Jim apparently sent advance warning that I wasn't to even attempt crossing the Pyrenees. So I was turned into a Luftwaffe Officer of some very obscure wing on injury leave who was inspecting Europe. I spent three weeks as a farm labourer and a week hauling coal in Bavaria before someone called Rick retrieved me and lodged me in some cabin for two weeks. Other than that it was a fishing boat from somewhere on the Danish coast and a boring trip back."

"You went from Sweden to the South of France after a trip back to England?" Annie-Bug looked not a little stunned.

"Not really, but Switzerland wouldn't accept me and the retreat from Greece happened a whisker too quickly. I was just chasing around after the known allied escape points. In the end it was simply a matter of manufacturing my own ride with a hefty bribe and a bad scare." Jeroen clearly did not really wish to talk about the matter, he'd recount, but he would not discuss what had happened.

"I need to get back to work." Annette rose quickly from her seat and bolted from the room.

"I'll go after her." Annie-Bug was almost as quick from the room and Jeroen glanced at Ashie with a lifted eyebrow.

"You said it yourself." Ashie's tone was dry. "James' prime motivation was Neddie."

"Hell." Jeroen stared down at his feet, he was all too familiar with Annette's habit of taking the blame for everything, even when it couldn't possibly be her fault.

"Quite frankly I hope she actually bolts on us." Caroline rose to her feet and poured herself more tea. "With Jeroen and Annie-Bug here we should be able to settle this mess inside a week. Anyone got any objections about a week of work?"

"Plenty." Jeroen gave a grin. "However, if you promise to attend the wedding before I return Bug to her barracks we will most reluctantly agree to a week of slavery and no honeymoon."

"Get married tonight and have a honeymoon of slavery and cold draughts." Ashie swallowed his now cold tea in a single gulp. "The Gull's hidden downstairs and the pair of you can be loosed on this place."

"Fair's fair." Jeroen dragged himself to his feet. "I'll leave you two to finish fighting out the finite details of what's happening and see if I can get lost in this labyrinth."

"Always turn left before you turn right, or continue straight ahead and you should at least find the surface." Caroline spoke as Jeroen reached the door.

"Thanks." Jeroen closed the door behind himself then leant back against it with a heavy sigh. The whole situation was a real can of worms and he couldn't help agreeing with Caroline's hope that Annette would do a bolt. There were times when a situation couldn't be salvaged by sitting around and waiting for it to blow over ... particularly if a Darcy was in any way involved in the matter.

July 27th 1941 - Glendevie, Scotland

In reality, life is terribly simple ... it is human nature to doubt and make things complex.

"Button ... think these are yours." Annie-Bug had had one final hesitation before she had handed the bundle over, but the act was now done.

"Thanks." Annette accepted the neatly bound pile of envelopes without even glancing at them and continued flipping through the photograph albums she'd been working on since she'd left the cave.

"Anything in the logs?" Annie-Bug hesitated again near the doorway, there was something almost unearthly about the calm which surrounded Annette today.

"No." Annette finished the last album and carefully laid it aside. "You can let Ashie know that both albums and logs turned up blank and I'm starting work on the library now."

"Alright." Annie-Bug had to force herself to leave the room and head on towards Ashie's room. Annie-Bug quickly delivered Annette's news and plans before asking Ashie where the tea was to be found and then retreating with a box to the caves.

"So, who's right currently?" Caroline took command of the tea as Annie-Bug came into the cave.

"Jeroen." Annie-Bug dropped onto her chair with a tired sigh. "Ashie's up to his elbows in private files and almost managing to appear businesslike. Neddie's just moved onto the library."

"I wish he'd just get on with it." Caroline's tone was one of frustration, though her expression remained calm.

"Perhaps he's past that point." Annie-Bug glanced up from the notebook she was leafing through.

"If wishes were horses I'd have won the Grand National." Caroline's tone was cynical. "Ashie doesn't get past anything ... let alone the death of Jim."

"What about the possibility he isn't dead?"

"Compounds and blows everything out of proportion because he's promised to do nothing until the war is over. Especially..." Caroline stopped and wiped some dust off the end of her nose. "That is why I'm starting to worry."

"What isn't Ashie doing?" Jeroen finally stuck a verbal foot into the conversation.

"If you don't know you don't need to know ... yet." Caroline's response was categorical and blunt.

"Is it likely to effect Button?"

"No more than it will affect anyone else." Caroline unrolled some plan or other and vanished behind it. Jeroen looked enquiringly at Annie-Bug, who responded with an appologetic shrug. Jeroen rolled his eyes and vanished in turn behind his own plans, a preliminary analysis of some new Messerschmidt or something which Hope had not finished before sending it up. Jeroen noted the incomplete status of the analysis and continued to scan the available information.

Annette paused, a dusty tome in each hand, and cocked her head slightly to one side to hear with greater clarity. It was faint, in someways more imagined than heard, and yet the effect was profound. Annette carefully returned the books she held to their shelves and marked where her investigation had reached before she crossed to the window.

The windows at Glendevie were old-style slits in the stone, unglazed and not particularly warm. Ancient tapestries and thick mats covered most of the rooms, blocking much of the chilly air out. The windows were sufficiently wide and deep to make them actually respectably comfortable to lie in. Annette pushed passed the tapestry of a stag and wriggled into the slit of the window so she could see the ground below and the spreading panorama of the valley below as it stretched to the sea on the other side of the island. Why she had wanted this view instead of just settling in a chair she couldn't say. However, there was no doubt that she had wanted this particular view at this particular moment ... and she certainly didn't wish to be interrupted.

For once Annette was content to cry. She knew not why the tears slid down her face and she felt no urge to question why. She had caught one teardrop and studied it in near perplexity for a moment before releasing it to continue its journey to the ground below. It was almost as if the music had taken hold of the tangled, confused web of her mind and emotions and was gently easing them out, with tears as much a part as rain was a part of the weather.

"Finally!" Caroline had dropped her plan as she gave the exasperated exclamation, before walking swiftly from the room.

"Wha..." Annie-Bug tilted her head mid-word and then her face relaxed as she gave a small sigh.

"What has just happened?" Jeroen dumped his own plan and scowled at Annie-Bug who grinned appologetically through her visible relief.

"Can't you hear?"

"Hear..." Jeroen terminated his sentence as his ears caught what they were meant to hear. How the sound penetrated so far Jeroen had no idea, though he was guessing the internal ventilation system, but the rippling melody reminded him forcibly of Pemberley in the Spring. "What is it?"

"Mourky." Annie-Bug blinked slowly, her smile tired and a trifle sad. "Ashie apparently wrote it in 1906 when he visited Pemberley in the spring. I've never heard anyone play it like Ashie ... but possibly that's because Ashie's the only person who knows Pemberley so well."

"Miss Darcy?"

"Georgiana is not bound to Pemberley. I do not know why, but all the Darcy men ... Uncle Darcy called it a curse ... they cannot leave Pemberley for long or they ... lose objectivity."

"Sounds like witchcraft." Jeroen wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"You haven't heard half of it." Annie-Bug gave a choked giggle. "Lovely legend tied into it ... but not a story for now. I've often wondered if Ashie isn't affected by the same ... curse. Even Uncle Darcy saw Pemberley in Mourky, and he was stubbornly unimaginative and unresponsive to music."

"This is what Caroline wanted him to do?" Jeroen jerked his head upwards.

"Aye." Annie-Bug threw a handful of paper into a nearby rubbishbin. "He'll be a lot more normal and reasonable tomorrow. I must admit I can't say how it works ... but it's true. Almost as if playing the piano rebalances his life."

"Do you think he knows how it sounds?" Jeroen slowly shook his head over the purity of the melody which rippled down.

"Who's to know." Annie-Bug shrugged, dismissing the subject.

"More Messerschmidts over here." Jeroen had fished up another plan, he had considered Annie-Bug's avoidance of the subject for less than a second. To discuss the music was rather like discussing whether Annette would bolt before the end of the week, it was vulgar and impolite. "Wish we had some instructions more precise then 'pitch em all.'"

Part 31

Posted on Friday, 27 August 2004

August 15th 1941 - Southampton, England

It never rains but it pours.

Annette stared silently down at the scungy water which heaved against the wharf in an oily manner. Eoan was sprawled across Annette's feet, his nose buried under a paw, he was all too well aware of what was happening and he was not looking forward to it.

"Diemos." Annette straightened and gave a small shake of her head. Diemos was somewhere and Annette had already be frowned at once because of Diemos' lack of containment. However, even the Captain had been unable to get Diemos into a box, so Diemos remained free. But Annette had given her word that he would not get into trouble ... Diemos had to be found now.

"Your cat." The sailor was handling Diemos with extreme care, in fact one might be so cruel as to call his manner ginger.

"Thank you." Annette accepted Diemos and gently stroked the black fur. Diemos was looking more moth-eaten and unprepossessing then ever. Diemos also seemed to have been somewhere he probably shouldn't have been, he had black oil on his feet. "Where was he?" Annette turned to the sailor who had paused to enjoy the scenery.

"Engine room. Old Biggsy was fair riled when he crawled out of the bilges."

"I think I should probably make myself scarce rather then go and appologise." Annette touched Eoan with a toe. "Thank you for bringing him up and I hope he didn't hurt you badly."

"Not at all, just the one scratch." The sailor displayed a rather nasty scratch on his hand. "Just stay on deck and you won't run into Biggsy. Don't matter how mad he is, he don't come deckside if the engines are anything but totally off and cold...even then he sometimes don't come up." The sailor nodded and moved away as Annette leant back over the railing and studied the crowd below. It was amazing just how many people were at a port at any given moment.

It must have been a day for silent staring at scungy water, for Annette found herself doing it again in very short order. It had been a very strange visit to England. Flown in by Ashie, met by an irate Caroline at the airstrip and then up to Glendevie without seeing a soul. Cleaning up Glendevie had not been easy for it was not a company which was being closed, it was a life. Annette knew a lot about the Darcys now, their genealogy, their history, there travels and some of their adventures. But one big question remained unanswered. Who had James MacKenna Darcy been? His life was to be found neatly documented and annotated to a high degree of accuracy. Annette could probably have described what he was doing on almost any day of his life, but there was nothing personal. What did James like? What did James dislike? What did James want to do with his life? Could someone live without these things?

"NEDDIE!" It was a yell which tore through the air and drowned even the immense racket of the crowded port. It was loud enough to penetrate Annette's abstraction and she glanced down at the milling crowd vaguely curious about who had yelled so loudly.

"Shocking behaviour..." The aged lady behind Annette sniffed and retreated, the beginning of her complaint drawing a small smile to Annette's face. So Rory complained on occasion, and the reminder was more than Annette's gravity could take.

"NEDDIE!" A second yell tore through the air and Annette turned her attention back to the crowd on the dock. Somewhere out there someone wanted someone's attention. Annette couldn't help thinking it would be rather fun if it was her attention someone wanted. However, it wasn't for there was no one around who called her by that name. Neddie was a name which lived in Scotland at the present moment. It was all rather confusing, Neddie in Scotland, Annie in Hertfordshire, Miss Fouchiard in London ... how many names could a person remember?

"Miss Fouchiard?" It was the purser, and though he asked a question his manner stated that he had no doubts at all.

"Yes?" Annette turned to the man and blinked as he handed her a small screw of paper.

"Telegram from Scotland."

"Thank you." Annette unscrewed the paper and frowned at the brief line of information.

Good luck in Africa stop Your boxes have gone into the vault stop don't forget stop Caroline

"Enjoy your trip." The Purser withdrew and Annette idly tore the paper into strips which she dropped over the side. It seemed that even when she bolted with no warning her actions were still known. Though it was really the logical conclusion for anyone to draw, where else could she go?

"NEDDIE!" The name was yelled for a third time and Annette returned to her search for the caller. It was with not a little surprise that Annette noted a familiar face from the Department of Agriculture waving frantically as he ran along the wharf. It was Robert Jonstone Webberly, known to all and sundry as Bob.

"Hi Bob ... Bye Bob." Annette gave a small wave in acknowledgement of Bob's waving as she whispered the words. It seemed an eternity since he had last charged into her office with some bizarre comment. It seemed almost impossible that he had once run in half shaved because Ashie was threatening to burn a file if it wasn't collected immediately. Everything in fact was terribly distant, the world seemed to be moving on, but Annette seemed to have missed the boat.

"GOT ... TO ... SPEAK ... TO ... YOU!" Bob was clearly relieved to have caught her attention, for he sank down onto a nearby projection after yelling his request.

"Coming." Annette gave another small wave of acknowledgement as she spoke the words. Annette then turned and headed for the ramp. Eoan padded heavily after Annette and Diemos hung quite placidly from under Annette's arm.

Annette had just stepped onto the wharf when with a small flurry of wings Bob and Tom alighted on Eoan's back. Annette eyed the two budgies in askance, she had left them in her room ... for them to be here meant the porthole must have been opened.

"Talk about a difficult lady to get hold of." Bob was badly out of breath and almost irritated. "I have been to Scotland and back in the past twenty-four hours, not to mention side tracking to Liverpool and London so I didn't lose your trail."

"The boat doesn't sail for an hour or two ... would you like some tea at my expense?"

"Thank you." Bob shook his head slowly. "You do possess rather a menagerie now. How is Eoan?"

"Happy at the thought of delaying the return to Africa as long as possible." Annette followed Bob as he leads the way to a small tea shop which was hidden in a bomb-shattered building. "You still in the Department of Agriculture?"

"No, I am now secretary to a big man." Bob had a rather mischievous look as he settled down and ordered a mug of tea. "Not only secretary, but also driver ... I am a trustworthy and discreet man of unimpeachable standing within the appropriate circles."

"Oh ... poor them." Annette gave a small shake of her head, the idea of anyone considering Bob anything but an idiot was rather humorous, for Bob shared a few too many traits with Ashie for most people.

"Precisely." Bob gave a chuckle of his own. "Anyway, are you currently attached to anyone big and important?"

"No, though I should have a job when I reach Africa."

"How can you just bob in and out of countries like this? Getting visas is not easy!"

"I've never asked that question." Annette gave a quiet smile. "Ashie wanted me out of the country and so I left the country. As to my leaving now ... well my visa's valid for the next five years or so."

"Ah." Bob nodded his satisfaction. "So if I waved a suitably tempting job under your nose you might consider it?"

"Nearly any job is preferable to returning to Lord Eaton ... Ashie calls him Tuck."

"Ashie would." Bob nodded in satisfaction. "I'm going to wave a job under your nose which I think you'll enjoy and I know you'll be good at."

"They're just going to accept your ruling on who gets this job?"

"Yes. It's a hush-hush job and correspondingly it can't be generally advertised. Most people we know are employed, but it occurred to me that you might be in a position to help me out by accepting it."

"What is it?"

"So you're interested?"

"Yes."

"Good." Bob rose from the table with his tea in hand and dragged Annette across to another table in a gloomy corner. The table was occupied, but Bob was clearly undisturbed by this as he settled into one of the seats. "I can't tell you about the job, but this dear old friend of mine can."

"Dear old friend?" Annette inspected the man thoughtfully, his face was familiar and Annette soon attached a name to the face.

"Of course." Bob seemed to have perfected his imitation of Ashie in the past couple of months, the inflection of the comment was perfect. "He pays me money so he must be a dear old friend."

"Anyone who tolerates you I would sooner class as a long suffering enemy." Annette settled onto the remaining vacant seat and prepared to wait until matters were explained.

"Apt, extremely apt." The man finally spoke, his voice soft and yet a voice which could have silenced any number of people. "You are interested in employment?"

"Bob says I will enjoy it and be good at it. That is sufficient for me to be interested." Annette paused. "Other than that I would prefer to remain in England."

"Why?"

"Eoan doesn't like hot weather."

"Eoan?" The man looked faintly inquisitive. "The cat?"

"No, this is Diemos." Annette scratched Diemos' head, then indicated Eoan with a jerk of her own head. "That is Eoan."

"Familiar." The man studied Eoan for a long and silent moment. "Very familiar."

"I would have been surprised if he wasn't of familiar appearance." Annette sipped her tea as she pondered the information available to her. "My boat sails in two hours."

"Can you prove your identity?"

"The fact I have Eoan should prove that ... otherwise you can always call up Ashie and find out how to prove my identity from him."

"Thanks, the dog is sufficient proof for now." The man's response was so quick that it was almost too much for Annette's gravity. For whatever reason, here was another high-ranking officer who would do almost anything to avoid interaction with Ashie.

"Who was the secretary you sat next to for the first half year?" Bob was stirring his tea abstractly, the question would have seemed irrelevant were the context not considered.

"Lila Thompson ... and she doesn't read Greek."

"It's Neddie." Bob gave his tea a slightly more vigorous stir. "But just to be certain, what did you find in your desk while searching for paper?"

"Which time?"

"Anytime, just give a list."

"Hand grenades. An assortment of German Detonators. The magneto from a Sopwith Pup. A parachute. Rather a large number of rounds of ammunition. One FBB shell. The odd flare. Half a dozen cigarettes from last war. Half a cake. A Japanese dictionary. Notes from a game of cricket. A broken cricket bat. A cinefilm of a rather nasty looking crash. A jigsaw puzzle. Some Agatha Christie novels. The complete works of John Buchan. A theodolite. Firewood. Assorted English Detonators. Rockets. Forty foot of rope. An anchor..."

"Is she making this up?" The man looked a trifle stunned.

"I doubt it." Bob gave a chuckle. "I know the cigarettes, cake, firewood and rockets were there at one point or other because I saw them ... or heard the resultant argument which invariably hauled Ashie's ancestors over the coals because she couldn't find paper because of whatever."

"We need a secretary." The man spoke after a longish pause.

"Then you've really asked the wrong person." Annette rose to her feet immediately.

"Give him a minute Neddie." Bob was on his feet immediately. "You trust me?"

"Yes." Annette hesitated for a long moment before she responded.

"Then trust me, this isn't just any old secretary position."

"Why me? Why not someone you can train up from scratch and rely on?"

"Because you have special qualifications." The man had risen as well and he spoke after casting a sharp glance around the room. "You know about the MAGI ... in fact with the exception of the MAGI themselves nobody knows as much as you do about that group." The man threw up a hand to forestall Annette's protest. "I realise you are tied up in metres of security and secrecy ... probably even sworn not to repeat anything that you have seen. I'm not asking you to. What we want you to do is help debrief everyone coming out of Europe."

"Why?" Annette frowned doubtfully.

"Because at the present moment we keep stumbling across names. Some are locals, some are informers ... we also assume that some are MAGI. The MAGI have been folded, but out there there are a lot of people who still use those codes and we don't know of anyone else who can help us."

"Ask Ashie." Annette responded shortly.

"We have." The man's expression was tight. "Ashie was his usual cryptic self and no help at all."

"You mean he told you to find your own decoders?" Annette gave a chuckle.

"You find it amusing?" The man's expression darkened.

"Of course I do." Annette gave a small shake of her head. "That's just Ashie's way of saying he doesn't know."

"Repeat that?"

"Ashie knows the codes himself, but except for me he doesn't know anyone who could help you."

"You mean that the MAGI were centrally organised?"

"No." Annette shook her head. "If you want to know the names of people like me who know the MAGI codes you'd have to speak to James Darcy."

"He's dead."

"Hence Ashie's comment you'll have to find your own decoders." Annette gave a small shrug. "To be honest I doubt I will be of any use to you."

"Can you tell us anything about Yves Olivier?"

"He's a MAGI Courier who you keep firing ... Ashie's term for the situation."

"He kept pinching our operatives."

"Did he?" Annette considered the matter briefly. "That was not the MAGI view ... as far as I understood we merely borrowed their facilities."

"They're still our facilities for our people."

"True, but an agent uses all possible means to carry out a job." Annette rose to her feet. "I still disagree that I can do this job. I also suspect that I will be an annoyance. However, if you still think you want me then I'll give it a trial for a couple of weeks. This boat or the next, no one will notice the difference."

"We will." The man rose. "Bring her back to London, Bob, and see her settled."

"With pleasure." Bob watched silently as the man retreated. "Thanks ... if for nothing else you'll get me out of this job."

"That bad is it?" Annette lifted a curious eyebrow.

"No." Bob paid the bill and lead the way around to the street. "I just don't have the memory capacity."

"A good memory is required?"

"To have someone scribbling madly is distracting when you're trying to remember. I got told the job was mine until I could find a more skilled replacement."

"I don't think I am at all appropriate." Annette walked easily, her fingers hooked through Eoan's collar and her other hand stabilising Diemos on her shoulder. "We take the train to London?"

"It will give us time to remember."

"That it definitely will." Annette's tone was dry. "Why do you think I am appropriate?"

"Because you know the MAGI." Bob glanced around. "Much more importantly because I remember Ashie giving dictation. Ashie rambled, changed subject, left the subject altogether and sometimes didn't come back to the subject unless reminded. Yet you seemed able to determine the relevant from the irrelevant ... and then remember it for more than an hour until such time as you could get away and type it out. Shorthand writers are available, but good memories are in desperately short supply."

"So my job is debriefing agents?"

"Not just agents." Bob gave a chuckle. "You'll chat with refugees, escaped prisoners, downed pilots ... anyone who comes out of Europe by way of the English Channel and is found by us will very likely chat with you."

"Exciting." Annette settled onto a nearby bench as Bob went off in search of rail passes. Officially she was aboard HMS Ebly and bound for Africa. That meant it would be a good couple of months before people even began to wonder how things were with her. Could she really vanish out of the ken of the MAGI network?

Author's Note: This post comes courtesy of Flight-Lieutenant 'Whippy' Nesbitt-Dufort. It was Whippy who made this flight, lived this adventure and did this deed ... even made a fair packet of the comments. I mean no disrespect to the memory of either Whippy, or the two men he dealt with that night, but I cannot write their histories and feel it better merely to say this was real though the names are not.

September 4th 1941 - Tempsford, England

In even the darkest of shadows light is to be found.

Flight-Lieutenant Brian O'Niell grinned ruefully to himself as he checked the met. reports for the last time. The last few months had been rather exciting and tonight held good promise for more excitement. However there was a job to be done and he wasn't sorry to have lost some rank since it gave him the flight.

"You off Gibbous?"

"Warm-up and wait ... the Joe isn't here yet."

"Well, best of luck and we'll have the egg waiting."

"Get some bacon for it and perhaps a nice mug of tea." Brian grabbed his jacket and parachute off a nearby chair before he headed out the door with a cheerful wave.

The Lysander sat on the tarmac, a dark shadow hunched in the late evening shadows. Brian began the warm-up automatically, his mind alert for problems but otherwise thinking of other matters. It had been a month since he'd been able to see Lucille and he rather hoped that he could get a weekend off to visit her after this. The warm-up was perfect and Brian fiddled abstractly as he waited for the Joe to arrive.

An actual trip to France ... Brian was not certain whether he really wanted to do it right now. France, in the middle of the night ... not so dusty. However there was also a call for pin-point navigation without a bloody navigator ... getting perhaps a whisker tricky, but still possible with practice. No lamp to light his map with? Not a hope, he was resigning as of last week!

"Bonsoir." The soft voice caught Brian's attention and he glanced out the window to see two figures standing practically under the prop.

"Watch out!" Brian waved the two shadows away from the prop.

"Pardon." The two shadows scurried around to the hatch and continued their conversation in hushed French. Brian turned his ears off because he really wasn't in the mood to listen to all the last minute warnings, cautions and advice the Joe was receiving. Brian squinted down at his map once more, checking his navigational markings and the tentative adjustments made from a base of the met. reports. Since Brian had been told an airfield was clear when it was in fact in the middle of a thunderstorm of unequaled ferocity he'd had little faith in met reports ... though he was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt and say that they did their best.

"Pilot, this is your passenger." The speaker had his face hidden under a hat. "This is the pilot." He then pushed his companion towards the hatch and returned to the car which had dropped them off.

Brian watched without expression as the newcomer in a cheap suit scrambled into the Lysander. The suit was cheap, the suitcase was fibreglass and he reeked of cheap gaullois cigarettes. Brian wrinkled his nose before putting the Lysander into motion and climbing into the night sky. The first flight from Tempsford to France solely concerned with covert activities.

Geraint drank mug after mug of ersatz coffee while playing the most miserable game of dominoes he had ever attempted. Geraint was also painfully aware that this in fact announced his nervousness in clear tones to his companion. Geraint was, however, proud of the fact he had not checked his watch once, though that was more because it had stopped two weeks ago than for any other reason.

It had been a month before when Geraint had sent forth his appeal to be taken out and he had in fact given up all hope when the response had come back. A particular field, a particular time and a particular night. The night would not be known until seven o'clock of that evening when it occured. Geraint had become accustomed to Feluccas and Submarines, but he was not certain that he liked this idea of flying. However the lions had roared and the aeroplane would already be on its way to pick him up.

"Deux bois d'eau." Yves face was placidly amused as he gave the quiet order in direct countermand of Geraint's request for another coffee. The waitress knew no hesitation and it was Geraint's order which was ignored. The two glasses of water arrived on the table and Geraint scowled as Yves produced a musty pack of cards and began playing some form of solitaire.

"Bois d'eau?" Geraint sipped his water in disgust.

"They'll run out of coffee if you're not careful." Yves responded in soft French as he rearranged a couple of cards and sipped his own water. "We are meant to be being subtle and unobtrusive."

"Well you might have ordered wine."

"Not with you flying."

"Well order it and I won't drink it." Geraint finished his water and Yves rolled his eyes.

"You may continue to drink coffee now."

"I am not nervous!" Geraint ordered more coffee.

"Certainly not." Yves soft voice was cultured and somehow he could convey an infinite quantity of meaning without changing his tone at all. Right now it was disbelief and Geraint ignored him pointedly as he made short work of his coffee.

"Is there time for another coffee?" Geraint asked the question as Yves swept all his cards back into a pile and their box.

"No." Yves pocketed his cards, called for the wine bill and paid it before Geraint had fully comprehended what he was doing. Geraint wasn't having a bar of this patronism and as they entered the street he was heatedly attempting to demand the figure he owed the bill.

"Vos papiers, Messieurs." It was a gendarme whose waiting hand caught them on the footpath.

"Should be there is seven minutes." Brian noted a very distinctive landmark he had been searching for. "Don't want to appear inhospitable or anything, but no time for affectionate farewells."

"I understand." The Joe was nice and silent in nature, saving Brian from having to attempt polite conversation over the beat of the engines. However the present conversation was important.

"So if you can be ready to beat it like a scalded cat..."

"Certainly."

"Fine. About six minutes now. Jolly good luck to you."

"And to you." Silence reigned once more as the Lysander drove steadily deeper into France, Brian now had his eyes peeled for the little triangle of lights which would signal the field he was to land in.

The Lysander reached the region of landing and Brian wheeled the Lysander through the night air, his eyes searching the inky blackness below for the triangle of light which was signally not present. Brian made a second futile pass and cast a considering glance at his passenger before he made one final pass. The lights blossomed forth as he turned for the last time and Brian reached for his signalling lamp, though he was already descending towards the markers. Quite frankly he didn't envy the Joe behind him, the Lysander was a far from silent 'plane and if half the countryside wasn't awake it was because they were deaf.

The field left a lot to be desired. Brian drove cautiously back to his point of take-off before he let the Joe off. The field was disgustingly rough and Brian was perhaps a tad worried about his undercarriage. However now was not the time to worry about that, the Joe he was picking up was already scrambling aboard.

"Good evening to you, or I should say 'Good morning.' What's this field been laid out for? French Grand National?"

"Sorry, it looked all right." The Joe was undistinguished and dishevelled, his hat had gone missing and he was sadly out of breath.

"My dear chap, don't give it another thought. Good practice. We're off to E.H. and B." Brian flinched backwards as something whitish came flying through his opened window.

"What does that mean?" The Joe's confusion was audible as Brian scrounged for the object which had come through the window. Brian did not want a grenade in his bus at any time.

"England, Home and Beauty." Brian frowned at the paper wrapped stone he had found on the floor, he hesitated for a long moment before throwing the stone back out the window and pocketing the paper ... he'd read it later. "Here we go. Hold your hat on." The props spun, the Lysander moved and like a giant dragonfly it hopped and bounced its way out of the field, finishing with one final tug of worrisome force which caused the nose to rear wildly.

Dawn accompanied the Lysander over the shores of England and Brian cursed as it became totally plain that his radio was out of action for some inexplicable reason. No telephone and Tempsford would be under mist or he was a noddy. Nothing like death on landing. Brian brought the Lysander around in the mist one last time before putting his nose down at the tarmac which he'd had the faintest glimpse of half a moment ago.

As far as landings went it was far from textbook. However a landing was a landing and the bus was down and the occupants alive so Brian wasn't about to complain. The ride was abnormally rough as he taxied in ... something was wrong with the undercarriage. Brian brought the Lysander to a halt and switched off the engines before dropping to the ground. To dispose of parachute and jacket was the work of seconds and Brian turned to frown at the undercarriage while the Joe struggled down.

"Thank you ... many..."

"Piece of cake." Brian noted with slight surprise that twenty metres of wiring was trailing from the undercarriage. "Piece of cake. Now lets to the mess for a drink or six." Brian frowned at the wire, it seemed that he had collected the local telephone wire on his way out of that field. "You wouldn't happen to have an accidental bottle of champers in that bag would you? You know extra unwanted bottle or something?"

"No." Geraint gave a twisted smile as his nerves began to relax. "Sorry, but no champers."

"Pity, that's the sort of thing which really brings the war home ... now I'll have to buy some to prove I went to France." Brian led the way across into the shed which hid the mess.

"Why didn't you call ahead?" Wing Commander Knowles looked up from his newspaper. "You'll have to wait for your eggs."

"Just as long as I get them." Brian threw his jacket and parachute into one corner and settled himself in the closest chair with a sigh of relief. "Radio conked it."

"Well you should have telephoned." Knowles gave a knowing grin and Brian wrinkled his nose.

"I tried but couldn't find the receiver." Brian accepted his first mug of delightfully hot coffee and bit into a slice of toast.

"Ah well." Knowles finished with his newspaper. "Take a trip to London with the Joe and see your wife again ... try to bring us some champers or something."

"Right-ho." Brian had received his eggs and was otherwise occupied than with attending to Knowles. A trip to London was just what he wanted, though he didn't think he'd mention those wires in his story of the flight.

Brian was seated in the back of the closed car and heading for London before he remembered the paper that had come through his window. Brian dug it out quickly and blinked at the simple line in confusion.

Spoken by a Magus: Unto us all comes death in many forms, life may follow for the faithful.

Brian stared at the page, his brain failing to comprehend what he read for several minutes. Even when his brain did comprehend it still made no sense.

"Problem?" Geraint looked curiously up from the book he had borrowed from someone.

"No ... just doesn't make sense." Brian studied the page again. "Came in through the window before we left this morning ... .Spoken by a Magus: Unto us all comes death in many forms, life may follow for the faithful."

"Cryptic." Geraint returned to his book and Brian pushed the page back into his pocket. Not many things had reason to pass from Brian to Ashie, but with something senseless like this, it was just in his field.

September 6th 1941 - Glendevie, Scotland

"Ashie was looking saintly??? I want a bomb-shelter, NOW!" - General D.F. Darcy (c.1935)

Brian's expression was utterly blank when he rejoined Lucille in the small parlour where she had been waiting. Lucille had barely even glanced up on his return, and now she continued to read in utter silence. Brian would speak when he was ready and not a moment sooner.

"We'd best get shifting back to London." Brian rose back to his feet again. "Tom says the wind is favourable."

"Did Ashie make anything of it?"

"If he did he's not saying." Brian handed Lucille her coat before he pulled his own on. "That in itself is not promising ... with luck that Joe will mention it around and it will meander its way to where it is meant to be."

"It annoys you."

"Of course it does." Brian gave a sigh as he lead the way down to the docks. "Someone went to fairly big pains to get it aboard without being traceable. Why the effort? Why such a cryptic message attached? For that matter, why my Lizzie? The fact he even knew the flight was coming says he has access to a radio network and probably from that Joe's network. Would have been a dashed sight easier just to send that out with a standard transmission."

"To be deduced that it was not wanted to have general transmission."

"Well it got it anyway because it was too vague." Brian lead the way to the small yacht which was already jerking against its lines. The wind might be favourable, but it was far from gentle. Lucille hoped she would not be seasick.

"Ashie?" It was a quiet query. Caroline had watched the Hawk slam its way clear of the heads and turn south before she had sought shelter from the wind. Now, climbing the main stairs for the upper stories she found Ashie lounging on the top stair of the upper flight. Ashie leant in a comfortable slouch against the wall, his attention held by his finger which slowly waved backwards and forwards like a slightly irregular pendulum.

"Hullo." Ashie glanced up momentarily and gave a smile, his expression too innocent and good for anyone's comfort of mind.

"Comfortable stair?" Caroline settled on the same stair, except she was leaning against the banister.

"No." Ashie gave a flickering grin, though this time he did not glance away from his finger. Caroline discovered that the finger had a slightly hypnotic effect, for she was also watching it.

"Oh." Caroline filed away the monosyllabic answer without comment before tearing her eyes from the finger and glancing up the hallway which lead to the bedrooms and nothing else. "Going somewhere?"

"Parlour." Ashie started conducting in four with the finger. "I got distracted by the view."

"It is impressive." Caroline considered the flight of stairs below, after casting half a glance at the blank wall which supplied Ashie's view. Ashie was almost sounding like himself, but it was all too clearly an effort and probably draining what little energy he had had.

"Mm." Ashie quit conducting, his hand dropping to hang limply alongside the other between his knees.

"You weren't meant to leave bed." Caroline lifted one eyebrow slightly as she glanced back at Ashie for the first time since she'd sat down.

"True ... but I'm not sick."

"Not tired?"

"No." Ashie's expression grew just the slightest trace of stubbornness.

"Could you reach the parlour with help?"

"Dunno." Ashie's expression and demeanour were indifferent, but he accepted the arm Caroline offered and never moved away from the banister as they carefully descended.

"Grey Parlour?"

"Not yet." Ashie calmly subsided in a slightly less than elegant pile of arms and legs on the lowest step.

"This admitting that I was right to spring Brian on you in bed?"

"No." Ashie straightened himself out after a moment and leant against the wall once more. "I only objected for Brian's sake ... he thinks this is serious now and that makes him worry. Brian does not require any worries at all."

"Ah." Caroline settled herself similarly on the inner end of the lowest stair. Since Annette's departure a little over a month earlier Ashie had been failing quickly. Now he was back to barely walking and not even lasting the day without at least one sleep and several naps. It was good in Caroline's opinion that there was no one to visit, Ashie had his pride and would not let anyone see him as actually unwell. Ashie would undoubtedly fail faster if he were perpetually pushing himself to appear in complete health. However, Caroline couldn't shake the feeling that Ashie was being far too accepting of medical edicts for his usual behaviour. Ashie of yesteryear would have accepted enforced bed rest until two in the afternoon as passively as he would have accepted creased socks in London. Perhaps it was just a sign of how far gone Ashie was, but Caroline didn't believe that for a moment. Something funny was in the wind, and this passivity and resting on the stairs merely reinforced her suspicions.

"Now for the Grey Parlour." Ashie managed to get to his own feet unaided that time, but he took Caroline's arm immediately and leant on it quite heavily for the entire ten metre trip to the Grey Parlour and his usual chair.

"You expressed confusion to Brian ... are you also going to try and persuade me that you are confused by that message?"

"Certainly not." Ashie gave a small smile. "I'm not that stupid yet."

"I'm glad to hear it." Caroline frowned. "Spill. What is the meaning of that cryptic magus message?"

"Chris." Ashie tucked his legs up and hugged them gently. "He smuggled himself into France back at the end of last year ... I think it's his way of saying that Jim has not been executed or imprisoned in Europe ... which doesn't stop him from having just died in that hospital in Sweden, or been mixed up in a bit of old-fashioned street fighting."

"But why Brian's bus?"

"Aeroplane ... or Lysander ... I have not the faintest idea. Possibly it was just chance. Unto us all comes death in many forms." Ashie rubbed his upper lip with and impatient thumbnail. "Blast the man and his mania for cryptics ... the Major could undoubtedly have translated all of the meaning out by now and I'm still guessing."

"You're certain it's Chris?"

"Only he would send a message concerning a Magus ... most people sign in their codename, Chris simply incorporates it in the message. Being a Magus he simply makes it a profound and vague statement and attributes it to a Magus. Problem is I am not the Major and I'm fairly useless at this."

"Well." Caroline rose to her feet with a slightly malicious smile. "You're perfectly good at making the statements ... reverse the psychology!"

"How terribly helpful." It was a glower which Ashie wore as Caroline left the Grey Parlour. The glower however faded into a thoughtful frown, and then into a small smile which would have worried Caroline profoundly had she witnessed it.

Continued In Next Section